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<title>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠 by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503363">𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots'>Adrenalineshots</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch'>TheFibreWitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Identity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:08:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Selecting 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.</p><p>Read this story at: <a href="https://www.thedominostory.com/#the-metamorphosis">https://www.thedominostory.com/#the-metamorphosis</a></p><p>This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin">Preface</a> or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin">Introduction</a>, please head there first.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts">MissScorp</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685309">The Metamorphosis</a> by Franz Kafka.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin">Preface</a> or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin">Introduction</a>, please head there first.</p><p>Betaed by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/">MissScorp</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</p><p>Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:<br/><b>— Inspiration: </b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Metamorphosis">The Metamorphosis</a> - Franz Kafka<br/><b>— Cover Song: </b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gWWLgPs0pGg">These Hands</a> - WHY?<br/><b>— Assets: </b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prodigal_Son_(TV_series)">Prodigal Son Stills</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</table><p>Laying on a lounger in the rooftop garden, Malcolm’s legs grow stiffer than he ever remembers. Some chemical reaction to the sun? Some indication that perhaps he shouldn’t chase after a suspect for several blocks while Gil hollers after him? Rubbing his legs together, he can practically hear the crackle of his cooked skin.</p><p>He should probably put on some more sunscreen. Or go inside. Or do <em>anything</em> that doesn’t turn him into a roasted Bright. He doesn’t want to move, though.</p><p>His leg hairs twist and curl in the light wind, leaving him with the feeling someone else is with him. His eyes are closed, but the phantom persists just outside of his periphery.</p><p>In a t-shirt and shorts, he’s dressed to stay in for the duration of the heatwave. Gil had sent him home after what he called “the incident” — Malcolm getting tackled at the end of said chase. Or as Malcolm preferred to explain with a shrug, “some things happened.”</p><p>As he stretches his legs, he considers that perhaps the hit had been a little bit harder than he thought. He’d never tell Gil, but even as he pulls his arm across his chest, he can feel a crack in his back.</p><p>His shell is pretty thick, accustomed to deflecting the most penetrating words like they’re pom-poms, but it erodes at the edges as it gets re-covered. After a harsh winter, his body is showing wear and tear. Even with a fresh coat in the summer, he’s apt to split again when the chill arrives.</p><p>Forearms wiry thin, it’s probably good Gil hasn’t seen them. Malcolm has been doing his usual exercise, but his intake has been lacking. Sipping at sparkling water, he fills himself with bubbles rather than sustenance.</p><p>Will he shrivel up in the sun? Be left belly up, limbs all crinkled up to be brushed away by a determined broom? Will he crunch under an unsuspecting boot, squished, but not missed?</p><p>It’s ninety degrees in the afternoon sun, and the bug’s on the griddle. The lounger’s slats will leave perfect grill marks as he turns into a tasty snack.</p><p>“Chocolate-covered Bright! Anyone? Chocolate-covered Bright!” the vendor yells.</p><p>Malcolm’s not anyone’s delight. Could be poisonous, even, with that extra dash of Whitly. At an unsuspecting moment, The Surgeon would slice out from the diner, cheering, “Another live one!” before giving all of his friends a snack.</p><p>Is solitude too much to ask? It’s the roof of Malcolm’s own loft, space with his own mind — couldn’t everyone else just get out?</p><p>“<em>Malcolm</em>, what are you doing up here?” his mother’s voice shatters his wandering thoughts. She strides toward him and tsk-tsks. “That’s gonna be a second-degree burn if you’re not careful. Get inside — I don’t want a trip to the hospital.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to move. His whole body’s melded to the chair.</p><p>“Malcolm Whitly!” his mother snaps when he doesn’t do what she demands. She grabs his hand next, dragging him behind her back to the door and closing them both inside.</p><p>He never could get her to use his name — Malcolm Bright. One too many slights for her, he supposed. Didn’t make her use of the now defunct name hurt any less.</p><p>“What were you thinking? You’re not made for becoming a tanned god,” she scoffs.</p><p>He starts down the stairs to get some distance, practically running for the kitchen, his muscles complaining the whole way. There’s a pitcher of water waiting for him in the fridge with his name on it. He’s halfway through one glass when his mother catches up to him.</p><p>“Explanation.” She gives him a glare that tells him he’s not getting out of this.</p><p>“Gil asked me to take the rest of the week.”</p><p>“Out of the kindness of his heart?” She’s not impressed, tapping her fingernails on the counter.</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“He needs cases solved, and that means you in that precinct, so what in the hell did you do wrong?”</p><p>Her choice of <em>you</em> is a usual affront, that of course if something is amiss, it’s due to something <em>he</em> did. “Nothing.”</p><p>Her heels click away from him, pounding into the hardwood, and he sighs, grateful for the momentary reprieve. “Gotta talk about your guard bird status, Sunshine,” Malcolm jokes, starting on a second glass of water.</p><p>His mother’s heels come charging back as quickly as they left. “Aloe on everything you burnt to a crisp,” she orders, setting the bottle onto the counter.</p><p>Filling in the cracks and resurfacing again. Preparing for winter only to come out broken. He follows her instructions anyway, knowing some attempt at soothing is better than nothing.</p><p>“Did you eat today?” she asks.</p><p>“You mean like breakfast?” he asks.</p><p>“Breakfast would’ve been seven, eight hours ago. Have you eaten anything?” Her eyes lock on him, daring him to lie and test her patience.</p><p>“No,” he admits.</p><p>“I’m making you something,” she says and opens the fridge. Her silence doesn’t last long, picking up as soon as she gets a glimpse of the shelves. He winces preemptively. “I’m going to send someone to do your shopping if I can’t trust you to eat,” she says. “We don’t need to go through this all over again.”</p><p>“Mother, I’m fine.”</p><p>“No, you’re not. You can buzz around my ear all you want trying to prove otherwise, but I won’t have you withering away to nothing.”</p><p>They land in a stalemate. She starts rummaging through the cabinets, finally pulling away with a box of rice. Putting on a pot of water and pouring in the contents, she sets a timer and guides him toward the living room.</p><p>He sits in the chair, and his mother takes the couch. “Are you going to tell me, or am I calling Gil?”</p><p>“Had a tussle at a scene. It wasn’t a big deal,” he says.</p><p>“And he would say?”</p><p>“I did something stupid, so I’m staying home a few days.”</p><p>“See, isn’t that easier?” she says, and he looks away, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes.</p><p>He buries his face in his glass of water, hoping he can drink enough to drown out the unwanted conversation. Do a little bit of backstroke and find his way out.</p><p>“You don’t need to curl up and hide from everyone all the time. Would think you’ve outgrown that defense mechanism,” she says.</p><p>He’s fairly certain there isn’t a single thing he can do right for his mother. “I’ll eat lunch, mom,” he says. “But I need a break. Help yourself to whatever you want.”</p><p>He walks away, disappearing into the bathroom to shower so he doesn’t get baited by the next words out of her mouth.</p><p>— ◌◯◌ —</p>
<p></p><div class="note">
  <p>
    <a id="note" name="note"></a>
  </p>
  <p>“Where is he?!” Jessica exclaims when she spots Gil in the ER. Gone are her words of “What did my idiot son do now?,” replaced with fear as soon as Gil had said, “It’s serious.” She had Adolpho rush her there immediately when Gil had called.</p>
  <p>“No word yet,” Gil says, standing to greet her and pull her into a hug.</p>
  <p>She would have denied she wanted one, but now curled in his arms, even she can admit his more frequent desire for touch is welcome, a calming presence even. “What happened?” she asks into his chest, some of her steam getting vented in their embrace.</p>
  <p>“I don’t know.” He sounds apologetic, guilty even, but it only serves to feed the anger brewing in her stomach.</p>
  <p>She pulls away to lock eyes with him, not liking the answer. “What do you mean?” she growls.</p>
  <p>“We were working in different rooms, we came back out to where he was, and he was unconscious. I don’t have anything else right now — I’m hoping the doctor can tell us something.”</p>
  <p>“He’s been in the hospital more times in the past year than…” she trails off, not finishing so she doesn’t drudge up the punch card of hospital visits from his younger years. There’s nothing to redeem it for. “I don’t like that this job keeps bringing him here,” she says instead.</p>
  <p>“It’s more him than — “</p>
  <p>“You brought him into it. You <em>know</em> what he does.” As much as she protests, he keeps insisting on drawing Malcolm back into the precinct.</p>
  <p>Gil takes the blows, doesn’t even move. “Jess — let’s sit.”</p>
  <p>She drops to a plasticy chair and accepts Gil’s arm around her. Neither one of them says anything. She just listens to the bustle of the waiting room, the anxious thump of their hearts beating, and the entrance of any new voice, hoping it’s a nurse calling them back to see her son.</p>
  <p>No one comes.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. Head back to the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin">Bookshelf</a> to pick another book. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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